Chained to Fate
by St Jane Ambulance
Summary: The Ring goes to Gondor; Faramir sees a change in Boromir. Alternate timeline from the end of The Fellowship of the Ring.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: A What-If that follows a slightly different path, but ultimately achieves the same result. I tried not to rehash repeated events; you all know what goes on off-camera, as it were.

"_But fear no more! I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway. _

_Not were Minas Tirith falling in ruin and I alone could save her, so, using the weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and my glory. No, I would not wish for such triumphs."_

_-Faramir; The Lord of the Rings, Book V_

**CHAINED TO FATE**

**PART I: THE FELLOWSHIP IS BROKEN**

Faramir stood in the courtyard under the White Tree of Gondor and heard the ringing of the trumpets from the outer walls of the city-the trumpets that heralded the returning of the Steward's eldest son and Captain-General of Gondor. Even then he knew he stood in a dream, for the yard was empty of any other soul. Not even his father Denethor was waiting there to welcome back his most beloved son.

The trumpets ceased and an unnatural stillness fell. He could hear no sounds, feel no breeze nor sunlight upon his face. The courtyard began to darken and Faramir turned his face skyward to see a black cloud passing over Minas Tirith; but this cloud did not approach from the east, from the nameless land. It came instead from the north. It moved with frightening swiftness, reaching out in all directions to cover the whole of the sky.

He felt the presence of another nearby and turned to face the eastern edge of the courtyard. Boromir stood there, adorned in his finest armor, his sword belted to his waist and the Horn of Gondor hanging from his shoulder. The shadowed mountains of Mordor framed his stately figure. He smiled and opened his arms in greeting.

Faramir began to move toward him, but stopped when he saw the shine of gold upon his brother's chest. A small ring hung on a silver chain, resting against Boromir's breastplate and shining with a light that did not come from the darkened sky. It shone with some hidden, malignant fire that yearned to escape and steal over the world and turn it all to ashes.

Boromir stepped toward him, reaching out one hand, but Faramir made no move to take it. He could see the true nature of the thing around Boromir's neck, and he felt repelled by it. It radiated darkness and evil and a lust for domination. It called to him, whispering promises of power and glory. But Faramir knew that to take Boromir's hand would doom him forevermore. He wanted nothing to do with that ring.

Refusing the whispers and the hand that reached for him, Faramir retreated. Boromir's smile faded as he withdrew his hand. Darkness overtook his features and his eyes burned with a violent fire. He made no more toward Faramir, but instead turned and swept his arm toward the east, where the Ephel Duath and the shadowed lands beyond were broken asunder and crumbling into dust. The noise assailed him and it seemed to him as though the whole world might crack in two.

But even over this rose another sound from below, and Faramir was drawn to look down over the edge of the courtyard. Below, people filled the streets of Minas Tirith and beyond, the fields of the Pelennor darkened with uncountable thousands. Their voices ran over the din of destruction, chanting the name of the savior of Gondor and the new King of the West:

Boromir.

Faramir awoke not in Minas Tirith, but in the camp in the remnants of Osgiliath where his company held the ford against Minas Morgul. His ears still rang with the sounds of his dream. Here in the waking world it was nearly silent. Most of the men were getting a few hours of sleep during a gap in the enemy's onslaught.

It was still dark; Faramir guessed there was a long while yet before sunrise. He rose from the broken wall he had fallen asleep against. A powerful feeling of dread took hold of his heart when he looked to the north. This dream had not been a dream; it had been a vision of something that might come to pass. Faramir looked to the east, where the mountains smoldered amid the shadows, and heard again the terrible thunder of its destruction. To see the end of that dark place had been the wish of all who lived and struggled in its shadow, but the vision had shown him that were it to pass like in this way, something just as evil would rise to take its place.

He was unsure of what he should do; should he tell his father? He had not had his ear in such matters before. Boromir was the one his father listened to, and yet the one man he could not go to for aid. This burden, it seemed, was his to bear alone.

.oOo.

The Fellowship had been broken.

Aragorn stood at the site where a struggle had taken place only minutes ago, yet he had been too late to prevent it. Hobbit and orc footprints covered the ground about him; past him, only those left by orcs crossed the earth, showing their coming and going. They alone told the tale of what had happened here. And yet that was not the most fearsome thing that had come to pass today.

Legolas and Gimli found him then, and he turned to face them, seeing their weapons bloodied and questions burning in their eyes.

"Have you not seen Frodo or Boromir?" Legolas asked.

"Frodo is beyond my sight, I fear," said Aragorn, "but as I sat in the seeing chair, I spied Boromir on a southern course from here. Listen to me! Two of the hobbits at least have been taken from this very spot. They will need you."

"You mean to follow Boromir!" said Gimli. "Why indeed has he deserted us?"

"I fear that Boromir has fallen to the will of the Ring and overcome poor Frodo," Aragorn said. "He does not understand that no good thing can come of its use. I cannot allow such a thing come to pass if it is within my strength to stop it."

Aragorn knew that Legolas understood, and he saw that Gimli did also, though it was plain that all were deeply saddened by the further fracturing of their Company. And with that, they said their goodbyes to one another, for it was uncertain when or if they would ever meet again.

.oOo.

_Samwise Gamgee, you great fool, _he thought to himself, _now you've gone and got yourself lost on top of everything!_

Sam, unable to keep pace with Strider's swift gait up the steep hill, had gone off to seek Frodo on his own. But he had not found Frodo-not at the campsite nor the boats, nor anywhere in the woods that he had yet been. And now, he could not seem to find anyone else, either. Once, he thought he heard shouting, but had been unable to determine from which direction-and had got himself all turned around trying to find out. Later he had seen orcs moving through the trees some ways off and had hidden for a long time. That was hours ago now, and he had not seen anyone else since then.

He wandered until the sun began to disappear over the hill, not calling out to anyone for fear that orcs still lurked nearby.

_Hold up!_ he told himself. _If you go wandering about after dark, all you're going to do is get yourself more lost, or worse. Back at the campsite, that's where you need to be. But which way is it?_

He remembered then that the sun was setting, which meant it was in the west, the opposite direction of the river. He just needed to walk east, until he reached the river, and then south, because they only could have camped south.

So he found the sun and turned the other way, and hoped that he at least found the river before it got too dark.

.oOo.

Frodo awoke quite all at once, his eyes flying wide, and bolted upright. He looked round in all directions, his breathing sharp and heart thundering as if he had just fled a great distance; but the woods were shrouded in the glow of twilight. He was unsure if this meant it was dusk or dawn. He knew that meant he must have lain there for a long while, either way.

His hand went to his neck-but the chain with the Ring was gone. He began to search about on the ground, thinking for an instant that he had simply dropped it, before he remembered he had done no such thing.

_Boromir._

But what of the others?

Frodo jumped to his feet despite the ache that crept through every joint and muscle. He had fallen to the bottom of a steep hill. Moving carefully, he walked in the direction of the camp.

The river was not very far away, but the sky had become dark on his journey there. A foul smell became known to him, a smell like that of rotting meat, but somewhat more odious, as if it were diseased. Frodo quickened his pace through the darkening woods. He passed something, a hulking shape in the near-darkness, that seemed too unnatural to be a rock or tree. His foot caught and he tripped and fell, scrambling immediately back to his feet. He ran then, a stumbling flight through the suddenly monstrous trees, twigs and branches reaching out to claw at him, shadows lunging at his feet to bring him down, but he kept running until he found a gap in the trees-the campsite! He stopped running as his feet touched bare ground, his hopes fading. No one was there.

Only one boat remained tethered to the shore. One for Boromir, he figured, on his way home to Gondor with his new prize. As for the other... surely the rest of the Fellowship could not have all followed in a single boat? Not unless there were not many of them left. He could not fathom where else they could have gone to.

Among the equipment that still lay about, he spotted Sam's pack and sank down next to it. He had failed all of them. All of the Fellowship, and everyone back home; the burden of Ringbearer had been placed on him and he had not been able to complete his task, and now he was all alone.

He lay against Sam's pack for a long time, until stars glittered in the sky. As sleep finally threatened to overtake him, he heard a noise in the trees beyond the camp. He hunched next to Sam's bulky pack and reached for Sting belted at his side. A look at the blade showed no glow; whatever approached, it was not an orc. Could that mean...

"Who's there?"

Sam! It was Sam's voice! All the cares of the Quest and the loss of the Ring were put aside then, and Frodo ran to him; for even if the world were to begin to crumble into dust around him, at least Sam would be by his side.

.oOo.

After two days, even without rest Aragorn could no longer catch any sight of Boromir. Even though Aragorn knew his destination and could track him on the ground without much difficulty, he had a greater need to catch up with Boromir before he reached Minas Tirith-a chance that slipped away from him with each passing hour. Boromir seemed to be driven by a swiftness not born of nature. Aragorn kept full pace at all hours, and carried only what he needed to make the journey to Minas Tirith, and still he fell behind.

He could only hope that Legolas and Gimli fared better in their search for the hobbits.

.oOo.

Sam and Frodo passed a restless night in the empty campsite. On the first day they remained near the site, but searched for signs of the rest of their Company. Though they found no bodies of their friends, which was heartening, they did discover several of those of orcs. It still did not tell them where all the others had gone to, or why they had left them behind.

In the evening they returned to the campsite to decide what to do next. Obviously, they could not wait here forever in hopes that the Fellowship would return. And since they did not know which way they had gone, there was no hope in trying to catch them up. There was no reason to head south anymore, either, without the Ring. Frodo especially hated to leave the Quest unfinished, and with no knowledge of what had happened to everyone else-Merry and Pippin in particular-but he could not think of anything else he could do.

And then Sam said, "What about the elves, in Lorien? Surely they'd let us stay with them again, and maybe Lady Galadriel could even help us find the others."

So it was decided. In the morning they would take the remaining boat upriver to Lothlorien.

.oOo.

The next morning, Sam and Frodo gathered all they would need to make the journey, and left everything else behind. Just before they departed they made a message in stones in case anyone else did return: Gone Back, SG & FB. They thought it vague enough that only one of the Fellowship could know which way they had gone and follow.

Traveling upriver was far slower than down, but the river was wide and lazy and the elven boat was swift. Before nightfall, they found a spot on the riverbank to make camp. They built no fire, but pulled their cloaks and blankets tight about their shoulders, and sat side by side against a mossy log.

Frodo, wearied by the long day of travel and the events of the last days, let his eyes drift closed. The sound of the river soon lulled him to sleep. It did not seem that he slept for long before he felt himself being poked awake by Sam, who silenced him before he could speak.

"Someone's here," Sam whispered.

Frodo froze, straining his eyes and ears. A flash of white glinted between the trees not very far away. An elf, perhaps? But they were nowhere near Lorien yet, and even so, when the Lorien elves did not wish to be seen, they were not. Gandalf had spoken of Saruman the White, who had betrayed him, and Frodo very much hoped it was not him, though he did not think they were very close to Isengard, either. There was no hope of escape from a wizard of his power.

The figure appeared through the trees again, much closer this time. He could clearly see now long white hair and beard, and that the walker carried a white staff. Frodo did not know what to do except hide. Could a wizard see through their elven cloaks?

The figure disappeared again. Frodo strained to see where he had gone when he appeared once again, stepping out from behind a tree directly in front of Sam and he. The figure turned to look straight at them, and Frodo heard Sam gasp at the same time he did.

It was not Saruman at all.

It was _Gandalf_.

.oOo.

Faramir stood outside the doorway to the great hall of Minas Tirith, a sense of dread filling his heart. The doors were behind him, and he faced the empty courtyard of the White Tree. In the skies above him, the dark cloud from the north had arrived and spread out over all of Gondor. Before his eyes, it flowed eastward, toward the Land of Shadow. The two clouds seemed to join, but Faramir heard the sound of great thunder and saw the bright flashes of lightning, and knew that the two dark clouds did not merge, but fought for dominance.

He turned away. Ahead of him now the doors to the great hall loomed dark and threatening. He opened them and his eyes were drawn toward the raised platform on which rested the long-vacant throne of the King of Gondor.

On the throne sat a figure enshrouded in darkness. From one arm, lying draped over the armrest, a silver chain dangled, and on the end of the chain glittered something gold. Faramir did not want to enter and move toward the throne, but he found himself walking under a willpower that was far stronger than his own. The shadow on the throne lifted a hand to welcome him. Faramir ascended the steps of the dais and did not look twice at the blood that lay spilled there. As he rose toward the throne he heard shouts from the courtyard, from the streets, from the whole of the city below, carried by the dark winds across all of Gondor and Middle-earth, chanting the name of Boromir, the new Lord of all.


	2. Chapter 2

II: A FAMILY TORN

Faramir's latest nightmare would not leave his mind as he made haste to Minas Tirith. His eyes kept straying to the sky, where all but the clouds over Mordor were a harmless pale gray. They did not betray their secrets to the waking world.

Around noon the great city of Minas Tirith began to loom in the distance, shining white against the mountains. Fear drove him ever onward, allowing him to stop only when his horse needed rest or water. He knew for certain now, in his heart, that Boromir was returning-but not the Boromir he had known all his life, not the brother who had always been there when he needed him. How he needed him now.

But he did not know what was to be done when he reached home. He needed to be there. To warn his father? Would he even listen?

By the late afternoon most of the clouds had cleared away, but the feeble winter sunlight did nothing to warm Faramir's heart. The sun was beginning to set when he reached the first gates of the city. Leaving his horse at the stables to be tended, he hurried upward to the last tier. The strain upon him had begun to take its toll as exhaustion began to creep into his bones, but this did not slow his steps.

When he reached the courtyard of the White Tree on the final tier, his swiftness failed him. His feet felt cast in iron, and it seemed to him that he moved at half the speed as the rest of the world. His gaze turned to the east, and he again heard withing his mind that terrible dissonance which still haunted him.

He reached the entrance to the great hall, and the sight which greeted his eyes was one that he had both feared and longed for. Denethor, a joyous smile on his face, stood with Boromir, still in his traveling cloak. Faramir hesitated at the entrance, unsure of what to do.

Boromir was the first to notice his presence. A broad grin spread across his handsome features: he looked so like Faramir remembered him. Boromir came forward to greet him, and thought he looked, Faramir could see no ring. He wondered if he dared to hope at all. Boromir took his shoulders.

"It is good to see you again, little brother," he said, and embraced him tightly. Faramir returned the gesture, but his fear did not abate. He wanted to believe that his dreams were simply born of a deep fear, but he could not. He knew too well the warning they had sent him.

Boromir released him and said, to Denethor, "You see, Father, the city still stands. he has not done so awfully in my absence."

"I did not expect you to return so soon, Faramir," said Denethor.

Faramir glanced at Boromir. Helt the fear from his dreams surging through him, and fought to make his face a mask.

"My errand was done," he said. "I thought it best not to tarry."

Denethor seemed dissatisfied with his answer, and for a moment Faramir was sure he was about to question him further.

"Perhaps not," Denethor said, with a look that told Faramir that the discussion would continue later. He turned back to Boromir and Faramir felt a little of his tension leave him. It would be difficult enough to tell of his latest vision to his father without Boromir present. The thought caused him pain; he had always been abl to tell his brother anything. Now, though Boromir stood before him, it felt as aif he were already lost.

.oOo.

Later that evening the three of them had retired to Denethor's private rooms, seated in chairs before the fire. On many other nights like this one, Faramir had enjoyed his brother's company; but tonight he felt distanced, and though he tried his hardest to hide this, he was sure that his discomfort was noticed. Denethor for certain was aware, though he did not bring attention to it.

Most of Faramir's focus was on his brother; he spoke and moved and behaved much in the same way that he always had, but something below the surface waited, not slumbering yet not fully awake. It was not a thing that favored the light.

And it frightened Faramir. Always before he had liked to spend time with Boromir away from the critical eye of his father focused on him; now he dreaded being alone with him. The burden seemed to be on Faramir to act, but he did not know the right course of action. Would that Mithrandir were here!

At long last, Boromir announced his intention to retire for the night. Faramir longed to retreat to his own rooms and dwell on what was to be done, but once Boromir had gone, Denethor spoke to him.

"You have been very quiet this evening," he said.

"I apologize if I have behaved rudely," said Faramir. He hesitated, wondering if he should continue. "A strange dread has weighed on my heart for many days. . . . I have been haunted by the same dream of darkness."

"Tell me."

"They. . . concern Boromir," he said. "In the dream, he was not as we knew him. He had become dark and terrible."

Faramir watched his father for his response. He expected to be chided and dismissed. But Denethor, to his surprise, did no such thing.

"He is keeping something hidden from me," he said, and he sounded disappointed. Sad, almost. "The journey he took has brought about some change within him, and he acts as if we cannot see it."

A great part of the weight he had borne lifted from Faramir's chest.

"I shall speak to him in the morning," Denethor continued. "Perhaps when he is rested, he will be more forthcoming."

Althouh he attempted to sound devoid of concern, Faramir could tell that Denethor's heart harbored the same fears as his own. This did little to comfort him, save that he no longer felt so utterly alone.

.oOo.

Aragorn came upon the white city of Minas Tirith at last well after nightfall, but not in time to catch up with Boromir. He had hoped to confront him before he reached the city; the gates were kept barred after dark, and his own history with the Steward was less than friendly.

He settled against a rocky bluff outside the city wall to wait out the night. But all too soon, moving lights outside the citadel caught his attention. Several figures bearing torches were approaching him. Aragorn got to his feet, wondering how they could know he was even here.

"If you have come to kill me, Aragorn, I strongly discourage it," said Boromir's voice. That explained how they had known where to find him. Aragorn saw his face more clearly as he came closer; he looked unearthly in the light of the torches.

"I have not come here to kill you," said Aragorn, though he was not sure if it were the truth. "Only to speak with you."

"I want to believe you," said Boromir, "but my father's orders, were you ever to return to Minas Tirith, are to have you arrested. And my father is still the Steward of Gondor."

.oOo.

Aragorn was escorted to a cell deep within the city. Boromir dismissed the others and stood outside the barred door in silence for a long moment. His eyes looked almost sorrowful.

"I wish I did not have to leave you here, my friend," he said, "but I cannot disobey my father's orders."

"I am here because you order it so," Aragorn said. "Your father has little to do with this."

"Well, I cannot have you spreading rumors about my evil deeds, whatever they may be," Boromir said, suddenly harsh. "We both know you followed me here to do more than talk."

"The ring is evil, Boromir. If you do not destroy it, it will destroy you, as well asa everything and everyone you hold dear!"

"I don't believe that," Boromir said, shaking his head. "I only wish to put an end to all suffering."

"You think you can destroy Sauron."

"Wouldn't that be what is best for Gondor? For all of Middle-earth?"

"Don't you understand?" cried Aragorn. "Whatever you do with that ring will turn to evil! Unless you destroy it, you can never destroy Sauron. The ring bears his will and it will carry it out through whoever wields it. Even you!"

"I only want to save my people! All people! That is no evil will!"

"And Gollum? Did you try to save him before you slaughtered him? And what of Frodo, who you called your friend?"

Boromir's eyes filled then with pain and remorse. "I regret what I have done," he said. "The creature Gollum surprised me and I had but little time to react. He was dead before I knew what he was. But I did not harm Frodo."

"What did you do, Boromir?" Aragorn asked quietly.

"I took the ring," he said. "I may have used some force. After that, he fled. I did not see what happened to him then. But last I saw him, he was alive."

Boromir turned to leave. "I will defeat Sauron," he said. "You will see Middle-earth freed from his darkness once and for all."

He strode from the dungeon, leaving Aragorn alone with his thoughts. Hope was becoming more scarce with each passing moment.

.oOo.

Faramir waited hidden outside the cells that served as a prison. Unable to rest, he had wandered the corridors to try and clear his mind only to see Boromir moving downward through into the city to some purpose. He had followed, staying in the shadows unnoticed, as Boromir and several citadel guards brought a man, bound, from outside the gates.

Boromir was the last to leave. Faramir heard him and the strange man speaking in raised voices, though he could make out no words. At last Boromir too left, looking troubled, and Faramir slipped inside. In one cell was the man he had seen arrested, a rugged man with dark hair and the sharpest eyes he had ever seen. He watched Faramir with a steady, piercing gaze.

"Do you know Boromir?" Faramir asked him.

"And who is he to you"?

"He is... or was... my brother. But I fear he is no longer as I knew him."

The man stood and came toward him. "Then you must be Faramir," he said, "and your father Denethor the Steward. Your brother seems changed because he carries the One Ring of Sauron."

"Who are you? How do you know this?"

"My name is Aragorn. I was a friend to your brother. We set out many weeks ago from Rivendell as part of a company led by Gandalf the Grey."

"You know Mithrandir?" Faramir asked, his hopes rising. They may be able to help Boromir after all. Mithrandir was the wisest man he had ever known. Surely he could find a way where Faramir himself could not. "Is he with you? I must speak with him."

Aragorn's eyes held a deep sadness which crushed Faramir's hopes with cruel swiftness. "Our company passed through the Dwarven mine of Moria," he said. "He fell at the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm."

For a moment Faramir was devastated. All his remaining hope for saving Boromir threatened to slip away. But he could not-would not-allow it.

"Then you must help me," he said to Aragorn. "I don't know if Boromir can be saved, and if he can, I don't know how to do it. But I must try."

"The Ring must be destroyed," said Aragorn. "That is what our Fellowship set out to do. With the Ring gone, Boromir will no longer be under its control. But destroying it will not be easy. He may not be able to give it up willingly."

Faramir thought for a long moment on what he could do.

"I will need your help," he said, "but I cannot free you now or Boromir will know. I may be risking much just by speaking to you. You seem certain that Boromir carries the Ring, but I have not yet seen it."

"It is in his possession; I know this," Aragorn said. "His intention is to destroy Sauron, but he does not perceive the cost of such an action. He may not intend to, but he will become the new lord of Middle-earth, and it will be no better than before Sauron was slain."

It was exactly as his dreams had foretold.

"I must warn my father of this," said Faramir. "If Boromir comes here, do not let him know we have spoken. It would be dangerous for both of us, I think. I shall return when I can."

.oOo.

Aragorn watched the younger man leave with new hope, but also with fear. He had seen the sadness and turmoil in Faramir's face when he spoke of Boromir. It was apparent to him that they had been very close before these dark times. Faramir's ability to see the truth, inherited from his father, and his determination to save Boromir spoke much of his character. Perhaps they had a chance after all.

But there was also that feeling of dread. Faramir was indeed risking much in doing this. He hoped his courage would not result in his death. Under the influence of the Ring, Boromir might very well harm his own brother. . . or worse.

.oOo.

It was well after midnight by the time Faramir returned to the highest level of the city. The corridors were dim and empty and silent, yet he tread softly. Once he reached his rooms, he slipped quietly inside and locked the door behind him.

"You have been avoiding me," said a voice out of the darkness. Faramir gasped and spun, eyes searching the darkened room for the intruder. In a chair near the window sat Boromir.

"I have been busy," said Faramir once he found his voice again.

"What was the errand that took you into the dungeons in the dead of night?"

How had he known? "Nothing that concerns you," he replied, trying to keep his voice even and calm.

"Faramir," Boromir said, rising to his feet and walking toward him. "You've always been a terrible liar. Now why don't you tell me why you were talking to that ranger? I promise I won't tell Father."

Faramir shook his head. Impossible! He was sure he had not been seen.

Boromir stepped closer to him. All sense he possessed screaming at him to run away, but he stood firm.

"What would you be talking about with a ranger from the north?" asked Boromir. "Were you discussing me? Or perhaps this?"

He held something up before his face. Faramir's eyes flicked towards it. On a chain wound around Boromir's hand dangled a plain gold ring. He did not need to ask what it was.

He threw aside all pretense. "Boromir, it has to be destroyed! You don't know what it will do to you. What it is already doing to you!"

"What this will do is allow me to defeat Sauron. To free Gondor," Boromir said. "You cannot tell me that you and I have not wanted this."

Faramir shoved his hand away. "What I want is not for my brother to take another dark lord's place ."

Boromir's face filled with fury, and he lunged at Faramir, shoving him against the door. Faramir tried to duck away from him, but Boromir took his arms and swung him across the room to pin him against the edge of his writing desk, his weight pressing Faramir down. Boromir's hand closed around his throat. He couldn't breathe. Faramir's heart hammered in his chest as he clawed at Boromir's hand, trying to fight him off, but he had no leverage. Boromir was the stronger.

Suddenly the room around him seemed to fade away. He saw Boromir seated on a ghrone in a large room edged in shadow. He was the Lord of Middle-earth and beyond, bearer of the Ruling Ring, and all the peoples of Arda bowed to him. . . .

_No!_ Faramir snapped back into reality and cried out, shoving Boromir away in a great surge of sudden strength. Boromir, surprised, was easily knocked away. Faramir darted to the nearest wall and flung his back against it, gasping and coughting but prepared to fight Boromir off if he came at him again.

Boromir looked alarmed. Angry. Ashamed. He started toward Faramir with one hand outstretched.

"Faramir, I-"

But Faramir flinched away from him. Boromir stopped, casting a sorrowful look at him, and fled the room without another word.

Faramir sank to the floor, trembling and unable to bring himself to move. The fear that the Boromir he had known was nearly gone was creeping up inside him again. If he was not yet lost, he soon would be. And Faramir had to do something before all of Middle-earth was lost along with him.

.oOo.

When dawn came, Faramir left his chamber and headed for the great hall. Though he had not slept, he had seemed to dream. Everything shown him seemed to end in the same way.

Denethor was already in the great hall awaiting his morning meal when Faramir entered. He approached the Steward's chair.

"Father, I must have a word," he said. "Have you spoken yet with Boromir?"

"It is early," said Denethor. "He has not yet risen. What word would you have?"

"What word indeed?" Boromir's voice from the doorway startled Faramir. Denethor stood as Boromir walked slowly into the great hall. To Faramir he looked even farther gone than he had last night; a shadow lurked behind his eyes.

Faramir turned back to his father. He must be told.

"He carries Isildur's Bane."

Denethor turned to Boromir, a look of triumph on his face.

"Is this true?" he asked. "Why have you not spoken of this before?"

Boromir didn't take his eyes off Faramir as he answered. "And ruin the surprise?"

"Let me see it," said Denethor.

Boromir did look at him then. He was beginning to appear very uneasy. His expression became like none that Faramir had ever seen him wear. "No."

Denethor looked taken aback. "Boromir . . . This is the greatest thing that Gondor could hope to have. It could win this war and free our people! Why do you hide it away from me?"

Boromir clutched at his tunic below his neck. "_I_ will use it," he said. "It is _mine_."

Denethor came towards him. Faramir watched in growing horror as Boromir backed away, one hand dropping to his sword which was belted at his hip.

"It belongs to Gondor!" Denethor said. He reached out for Boromir.

"No!" cried Faramir as Boromir drew his sword. He leapt toward him and grabbed at his arm. Denethor stumbled backward in alarm. Faramir tried to hold the arm back, but Boromir was stronger. He wrenched his arm out of his grasp, and with his other fist struck Faramir across his head. His world spun as Boromir's other arm swung back around and something struck him hard against his side. He fell to the floor, dazed.

He heard someone yelling, though he wasn't sure whether it was himself or someone else. His head felt heavy and a dull ache throbbed in his side. Somewhere near him there was a terrible sound of someone in pain, then silence.

Alarmed, Faramir tried to get his feet under him. He made it to his knees - with some difficulty, as his head still swam - and looked about the room.

Denethor was on the floor, a sword through his heart. Boromir stood over him, breathing heavily. At that moment Faramir forgot about the pain and struggled to his feet, moving to fall to his knees by his father's side. Denethor's eyes did not move.

He looked up at Boromir.

"What have you done?" he gasped.

Boromir looked at him, and Faramir felt a part of himself die. His brother was gone. The Boromir he had always known was no more, and taken their father with him. Whatever was now living in his body was an entity tainted with evil.

Faramir rose shakily to his feet. Boromir started towards him, but Faramir took a step back. The pain in his side flared then, and he winced and brought his arm to press against his ribs. The motion did not escape Boromir's notice.

"You are injured," he said. He reached out, but Faramir backed away farther.

"Stay away from me," he said, fear welling into his voice.

Boromir looked surprised and hurt at Faramir's words. He shrugged and smiled, like a silly accident had just happened and their father did not lay dead in the room, slain by his own hand.

"You have lost some blood," he said. "You are not thinking clearly. You must see the healers. Here, I will take you."

He had come close enough and reached out to grab Faramir's shoulder. Faramir reacted without thinking. With his free hand he swung at Boromir's jaw, knocking him back several paces with a surprised grunt. Adrenaline surged anew through Faramir's blood and he turned and ran without looking back, heading down toward the dungeons.

.oOo.

Aragorn stood when he heard hurried footsteps approaching his cell. He nearly jumped when he saw Faramir moving urgently toward him, his face pale and pinched and blood staining his clothes. The hand that pressed against his left side needed little explanation.

"What has happened?" Aragorn asked.

Faramir hesitated a moment before anwering. He clenched his fist around something in his free hand.

"Denethor is dead. We must leave now." His hand opened to reveal a key to the cell door. As soon as Aragorn was free he gripped Faramir's arm to support him as he swayed.

"Are the stables far from here?" he asked.

"No," Faramir replied. "This way."

As early as it was, few people were in this area of the city. At the stables, Faramir pointed out his own horse and another of the swiftest, and Aragorn quickly saddled them. He kept a watchful eye on Faramir, who now leaned against a pillar, looking sick and grief-stricken and paler even than before. Aragorn had wanted to see to his wounds, but Faramir insisted that he could wait until they left the city. Time was not their friend this day.

Aragorn helped Faramir mount his horse before climbing atop his own. Faramir led the way, wrapping himself in a traveler's cloak and making an effort to sit up straight. At the city's front gate, the door wardens let them pass without question. As soon as they were clear of Minas Tirith, they spurred their horses to a run, heading toward Rohan.


End file.
